Bedazzled
by L.R.T
Summary: The Hessenheffer twins come to a sad realization about their relationship. G-RATED TWINCEST. IN UPDATE LIMBO.


Bedazzled

L.R.T.

_I promised to be your rock star; but then promises don't mean anything anymore._

* * *

><p>You always want to protect her.<p>

* * *

><p>It was the summer before third grade when she fell as she learned to..."rollerskate" was the word you'd heard thrown around in an excited, fast-paced tone before the cries from the sidewalk below. You weren't sure that your feet even hit the stairs as you made your way down to her, accidentally using the building's fire exit and starting a mass panic inside. Outside, however there was panic as well when you reached the pavement and saw her there, tears streaming down her cheeks and pink, bedazzled helmet tossed aside to show now the frazzled and flattened big, blonde pigtails that were now as dampened as her spirits. You rushed to her side and asked what the matter was. She pointed to a rip in the knee of her black, sparkly tights and the bloody scrape on her skin that now replaced the fabric. As the apartment evacuated behind you, you frowned, never having seen her hurt and crying before. She whined your name and something inside you clicked on. Maybe it had been there all the time and you had been ignoring it, thinking the time would never come when it would have to be used. The time <em>had<em> come, however, and you surprised even yourself with how you handled the situation. You untied her "rollerskates" and took them off, muttering an old curse at them that made her forget her pain for a brief moment to gasp that you, of all people, knew that curse - let alone would use it. You said that they hurt her and deserved the Curse of the Tiny Donkey be placed upon them. The tears stopped rolling down her cheeks and she smiled as you placed her arm around your shoulder and helped her stand. "I won't ever be hurt again, will I, Gunther?" she asked with a sniffle. You shook your head and watched with bewildered satisfaction as the long red truck with the men of fire came, kicking the "rollerskates" into the street where they were quickly run over.

* * *

><p>You were visiting the homeland before returning to start the in between school when you came down with the measles. Everyone was very proud of you as it was deemed a right of passage to get a disease such as this in such close proximity to becoming a man. You just felt miserable. The feeling was made even worse when she was sent out to stay with the goat and the pig, having never had the measles herself and it being less of a blessing, more of a curse, for young ladies to get diseases when so close to becoming women. The thought of her as a "woman" suddenly made your skin itch more than it had in the previous days, causing your auntie to tie oven mittens to your hands, all the while going on about what a wonderful time this must be for you. The oven mittens didn't even have sparkle. That was the nut that broke the squirrel's head and you found yourself getting up out of bed - still weak and tired - and heading to the window that looked out to the oddly-shaped shack where the goat, the pig and your sister made their home. All was not quiet, however and your ears perked at the sound of music coming from the dimly-lit shack. The beat met the tempo of your heart, pounding in your ears and you longed to be out there with her. What would a goat and a pig - a <em>small<em> pig, at that - do if a terrible animal came, hungry in the night? They would save themselves before they'd help her! Goats and small pigs were very selfish in that way. You couldn't risk getting her sick, though. She would be shunned like a tiny donkey. You glanced around your room, feeling like Mr. Zero Zero Seven himself as you opened your window, oven mittens and all, and crawled out.

Walking on bare feet through the short grass, you made your way around to the doorway of the shack. It was left open as sharing a space with a goat and a pig could be unsavory, even for her and if the goat and pig knew what was good for them, they wouldn't run off. You stood midway between the house and the shack, watching with a crooked little smile as she danced with the pig and then scolded it for not having practiced.

Exasperated, she blew a piece of hair from her face and turned to face you, hands on her hips. Her face immediately brightened, hands dropped and she started to run to you but stopped herself in the doorway of the shack, remembering your predicament. You waved with your oven mitten-clad hands and she made a face at them.

"I've seen the pig make prettier things," she commented.

You looked at them and made a face yourself, nodding in agreement then as if to explain yourself, "Auntie."

She nodded, explanation received. "If you didn't itch and scratch -"

"I didn't until today," you interrupted, unsure why and why it mattered.

"Why? You've been spotty for many days now."

Your jaw clenched as you felt the unwelcome hotness creep into your cheeks. You weren't sure why it was so unwelcome, why it made you upset to have it there. After all, you were sick and feverish. It was possible it was just that. That's what you could tell her, anyway. The real reason was just too embarrassing - and you weren't sure why that was, either. You didn't want to know. You didn't want to find out. Nothing very good could come of it. You wished you'd never gotten the measles because it was their fault you itched and scratched. It was their fault your face was hot and red now. They had made you a man and as the older, wiser women in the Hessenheffer family often said when they thought you weren't around - men were tiny donkeys.

"Gunther?" she persisted, taking a step forward out of her safety area, worry on her face.

"No, no! Get back!" you said suddenly, curtly and immediately regretted it as you watched the worry give way to a frown. "You don't want to get sick, Tinka. I don't want to get you sick! Then you would have to wear these oven mittens, too."

That thought was more than enough to keep her back, going so far as to take another step back into the shack. "But why are you itching and scratching so? And why did you come out here if you're only going to yell at me? I can get that from the goat and he has much better manners and isn't wearing ugly things."

You sighed and shrugged a little, the hot feeling coming back to your cheeks again even though you were only speaking a truth that you'd both lived since the "rollerskating" incident, "I worry. I wish you were not out here all alone. I should be out here. What if a wild animal comes? You know how goats and pigs are."

"Selfish, I know, I know," she said, waving her hand in dismissal. "You shouldn't worry, though, Gunther. I can take care of myself! You've heard everyone, I am very close to big, beautiful womanhood!"

You had to put one of your oven mittens over your face for that, rubbing it in the hopes that with the hotness and the redness, the feelings would go away. Especially the slash to the heart when she said she could take care of herself. What were you supposed to do, then? She was your life. She wasn't ever supposed to be hurt again and if she didn't want you to worry, didn't want you around then that would happen! Her cries had to have become more heartbreaking through the years.

"Gunther? Gunther what is wrong with you?"

"I..." you trailed off, unsure of what to say. Well, you _knew_ what to say but you weren't about to say it. You both had a talent for honesty when it came to everyone but each other. You couldn't say that, though. She had been nothing but honest with you. You were the liar. The dirty tiny donkey. "I need to lie. Back inside in the bed."

"Oh. Of course, you should be!"

You turned around, started to head back the way you came but stopped, your head barely glancing over your shoulder, unable to look at her anymore tonight. "Tinka?"

"Gunther?"

"I'd still like to protect you sometimes," you said quietly, toes curling in the cool grass anxiously.

"Gunther, you are my brother. You will always protect me!"

You smiled, looking back at her completely and thinking how, leaning back against the door frame of the shack, grinning at you as the dim light hit her a certain way...she really did look a bit womanly. All grown-up. And despite the measles, you still felt like that little boy holding onto her for dear life and helping her along, even if she didn't need it anymore.

* * *

><p>"Look!"<p>

Before you had the chance to look up from your stitching and actually follow the command you'd been given, a piece of paper had been thrust into your face, barely touching the tip of your nose. You wrinkled it up and took the paper, looking at it. "What is this?"

"It is a flyer for try-outs for the local, popular television program 'Shake It Up! Chicago'!" she said excitedly.

You tilted your head to the side to look at the flyer once more and, not understanding what was so special about it - in fact, it was quite ugly - handed it back to her. "And you want me to...put some glitter on this? You know." You flashed a smile and moved your head from side to side in one fluid motion. "Jazz it up a bit?"

Her excitement immediately deflated and you were left to wonder what was it you had said wrong. She was pouting now, her forehead as scrunched as the things she put her hair. What was so very wrong? Surely she didn't think this flyer for the local, popular television program she spoke of was flattering. How it had even come into her possession was a good question to ask as she very rarely looked at things that were both ugly _and_ without some kind of sparkle to them. "Where did you find this? I know you did not make such a terrible thing."

"While shopping with Mama," she said, her nose turned up to you now as though you didn't deserve to hear about what the flyer was and her grand plans for you that revolved around it. Maybe you didn't. "When something is so terribly ugly as this, I am drawn to it like a werewolf to the full moon! You must read it, Gunther! Read!"

"I did! It says it wants people for to being dancers on the local, popular television program."

With a huff, she shoved you back using the palm of her hand against your forehead. "We are dancers, Gunther!"

You made a face, rubbing where she had shoved you despite the fact that it didn't hurt. It was an immediate reaction to being touched by her - you had to touch it soon after. This particular thing began to happen without you noticing soon after you returned home from the old country, recovered from the measles and one of the men of the household now. Only once school began did you notice how often you did it and wondered why. "We are better dancers than the three-legged cows they will surely have on this television program. Their balance will be off because of their udders and limbs will be everywhere. You remember our tenth birthday!"

"There won't be any milk and helpless 'moo'-ing to ruin the festivities this time!" she protested.

"I do not understand you sometimes, Tinka," you said without much thought that it was actually coming out of your mouth, returning to your clothes-making.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her curiosity seemingly piqued.

You shrugged, now more determined to make this 'G' look presentable and fabulous on your shirtskin than you were at watching your tongue. "I am supposed to be the one that understands you the most and ever since we flourished and reached adulthood -" you stopped, looking up at her as she waited for an answer, realizing you were about to spill the baloney about everything you'd been feeling. That needed to be squashed down quickly before she became suspicious - she was ever so suspicious of things. "There is too much pressure," you decided on, looking back to your work.

"Nothing has changed!" Crossing her arms, sticking out one of her hips, she threatened, "If you will not dance with me, then I will go alone. It is a shame the pig isn't here."

Groaning, you dropped your needle and thread onto your shirt and placed it on the table, slouching down in the chair you'd been sitting in. "_Tinkabell_..."

"Maybe I will meet a handsome young dancer and we will fall madly in love as we are paired up for dance after dance..." she trailed off, spinning about the dining room, leading an invisible partner in a waltz.

"All right, I will do it!" you said abruptly, so much so that you put your hand over your own mouth, half-hoping that she hadn't heard though she was just a few feet away. What was it about someone else dancing with her that made your heart pound so and the back of your ears become hot, angry at the mere thought of someone else sharing the something special that _you did_ with her. You even suggested they have the pig for breakfast one morning.

She stopped dancing and squealed, rushing back over to you and wrapping her arms around your neck, hugging you close and kissing your cheek. You thought you would surely fall right to the floor. "Oh, big brother! You are wonderful! We will be the superstars, worry not!"

With that you watched her run off to her room and slam the door to no doubt work on her own outfit for the big day, the faint sound of her singing a song from the old country coming through the door and echoing through the apartment. You shifted in your seat, suddenly uncomfortable and in much need of a fierce distraction. Looking back to your shirt, you began to sew once again, wildly, and began making a plan in your head for handsome matching pants to make from scratch that day as well.

Idle hands were usually poking the tiny donkey and got bitten, after all.


End file.
